What To Deduce From Sapphires
by Blood-Sucker-1428
Summary: Mycroft fills with dread as Sherlock walks into the jewellery shop he is currently perusing. The last thing he wants is for Sherlock to work out that Mycroft is buying a gift for a special someone. Please, just walk past… Prompt given to me on Tumblr.


**Author's Note:** **Three updates it three days. Wow, I've really got the writing bug. This time I was once again begging from prompts on Tumblr. User, sherlollymouse suggested some quite good ideas and this is one of them. I hadn't written for Sherlock himself in a while, so I kind of jumped at the idea of brother interaction. I can't wait for feedback from you guys – reviews make my heart happy. Please read, review and enjoy!**

 _Prompt:_ _Sherlock running into Mycroft at a shop and deducing that he's buying a gift for Anthea._

 **Disclaimer:** **Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.**

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 **What To Deduce From Sapphires – By Blood-Sucker-1428**

Mycroft knew the moment Sherlock walked into the same jewellery store he was in, that he was screwed. He hoped, prayed to any high being that might by any chance exist, that if he kept his back to the door and faced the counter with his head down that Sherlock would walk right past him without noticing. Unfortunately, as dull as Sherlock appeared to Mycroft, he was still vastly more intelligent than your average person, and just like how Mycroft could pick Sherlock's entrance by the smell of his damp Belstaff and the way the female staff members had stared, so could Sherlock pick Mycroft from the umbrella at his side and the black gloved hands folded on the counter.

With no doubt a dramatic swish of said coat, Sherlock came striding up to the glass counter next to Mycroft and copied his body language, right down to the rather rude elbows on the counter. Mycroft had only done so to throw Sherlock off the case.

"Hello, Mycroft." Sherlock's deep register was full of smugness as he smiled to himself, looking forward at the shelves of display rather than his perturbed looking older brother. Mycroft, too, kept his eyes on perusing the stock rather than look at his brother's self-satisfied face. Mycroft simply quirked an eyebrow and pulled his face into a look of disdain. "What brings you here?" So smug. Mycroft clicked his tongue.

"I could ask you the same question, brother mine." Mycroft sneered. "This place is a tad out of your price range, don't you think?" He stood up straight, no use continuing to lean on the counter. "Unless, of course, your consulting crime fighting is more lucrative than it appears." Mycroft couldn't help smile as he watched some of the smugness fall from Sherlock's face, smile dropping. Bright blue eyes flashed over, finally, to meet steel blue.

"An item for a case is being appraised, if you must know." Sherlock moaned in disdain. "Lestrade doesn't see the importance-"

"Of course he doesn't."

"So it's left to me."

"Ah." Mycroft nodded, calmly. He accepted this, acting as he were the one to initially quiz Sherlock and not the other way around. "Well, then. Carry on with your case." He hummed. "Perhaps I won't have to pay part of your rent this month."

A pause.

The smallest tick of irritation in Sherlock's eyes showing that Mycroft's dig had landed. Proud of himself, Mycroft picked up his umbrella and prepared to leave. He turned his back to the counter.

"But why are you here, brother?" Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath before turning back to the counter. He'd been so close to leaving, so close. He forced on a calm smile onto his face, flashing it to his brother.

"No reason, Sherlock." He hummed cheerily. "Cufflinks and the like." The way Sherlock's mouth pouted faintly, and his sky blue eyes narrowed suggested that he didn't believe Mycroft's excuse.

"You haven't bought your own cufflinks since you were twenty five. You have someone to do that for you." His voice was full of thought as his brain ticked away. Great. Mycroft was being _deduced_. How fun. Mycroft shrugged.

"And yet no one quite has my taste."

Silence fell as the two pair of blue eyes held each other, Sherlock not believing Mycroft, Mycroft daring Sherlock to find a hole. They were at a standstill and were to stay that way.

Or they would have stayed that way, if the sales assistant hadn't chosen that specific moment to return with a tray of high priced jewellery.

"This is our collection of what suits your specifications, sir." The blonde mid-twenties girl smiled brightly, as she placed the tray of earrings, bracelets, and necklaces down in front of Mycroft. Mycroft could swear he felt the life drain out of them as Sherlock looked down upon the collection, a smile slowly growing on his face.

"Women's jewellery, brother?" Sherlock's eyes were sparkling with superiority and mischief. Mycroft just wanted the ground to open up bellow him and drag him to hell right now – that would be preferable to watching Sherlock win. And he was going to win. It was too late. Sherlock's long fingers flicked over one the tiny price tags attached to a bracelet. His eyes widened as he nodded, indeed surprised by the price range no doubt. "Expensive jewellery."

"What of it, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed, feeling defeated but not willing to completely give up. He wasn't going to give Sherlock any information. Not easily.

"Who are you buying jewellery for, Mycroft?" He cocked his head to the side as he looked Mycroft up and down. Mycroft held his ground, fingers in a death grip around his umbrella handle.

"There are plenty of powerful women in my work life, brother mine. Some that require gifts to placate or manipulate them."

"Mmm…" Sherlock hummed as he looked back down to the tray of jewellery, eyes scanning over every piece carefully – extracting any hint or clue he could. "But none that would need your personal touch and not that of a personal shopper or a personal assistant." He titled his head and bent over, getting a different angle of the jewellery. Mycroft looked away, utterly embarrassed by his brother's behaviour in a high end jewellery store.

"Sherlock-"

"No, this suggests a woman you view as _personally_ important. Such as Mummy." Sherlock stood back up and turned to face Mycroft, arms crossed against his chest, eyes narrowed. Mycroft gave him a look of boredom. Anything to make Sherlock lose interest and go away. He was getting too close. "But it can't be Mummy. She doesn't wear sapphires, and diamonds generally suggest a romantic relationship. All you have here are diamonds, sapphires, and tanzanite." Mycroft resisted the urge to gulp – lest it speed Sherlock's discovery. Instead he dug the umbrella further into the patterned burgundy carpeting, looking down quickly as he did so to give him a moment to steel his face.

"Where are you going with this Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed, looking up to the antique clock on display. "I am a rather busy man."

"Picking out jewellery for a woman you have a romantic interest in, apparently." Mycroft gave Sherlock a dead cold look, as icy as he could manage. Sherlock merely smirked in response. "No use denying it, brother dear. The evidence is all here." He turned back to the jewellery, placing a palm on either side of the tray. "All that remains is deducing who it is..." Mycroft shook his head as he felt the dread wash over him. It was just a matter of seconds now.

Sherlock hummed and hah-ed as he looked over every piece very carefully. He was taking notes of cuts, sizes, styles of chains, everything. Basically, he was being Sherlock, and being a giant pain in Mycroft's size.

"Simple, discrete, and mostly blues." The younger Holmes finally listed off what he deduced to be the important details. "Who do you know that dresses simply, needs discretion, and who you clearly feel suits dark colours." A moment of silenced fell as Mycroft rolled his eyes and Sherlock ran through his mental phonebook.

 _Ding._

Mycroft's phone went off in his pocket, signalling a text. He chose to ignore it, he had a bigger pest to deal with right now. Unfortunately the phone seemed to be the clue Sherlock needed as the bright eyes seemed to fill with light, and he grew a disgustingly pleased smile on his face.

 _Of course!_ Mycroft thought. Who was most likely to send him a text message rather than calling or emailing? Only one person.

"Your assistant?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows raising, voice high as if shocked or impressed. "Not-Anthea? Really?" Mycroft kept his stone mask firmly in place, not letting anything on his face betray how he may be feeling. "I'd ask how long but I'd doubt you'd ever tell me."

"Sherlock-"

"Don't deny it, brother mine. I've seen how she looks at you. It seems I've missed you returning those looks." He chuckled to himself as he turned back to the tray. He pointed to a set of white gold earrings with a small tanzanite stone dangling from each one. "If I were you, I'd go for them. They match the necklace she always wears. The one I'm presuming you bought for her." Mycroft scoffed.

"Don't be absurd, Sherlock." He snapped. "Your wild whimsical theories suggest you've been spending far too much time with the Watsons." With a sharp turn on his shoes, Mycroft walked out of the jewellery shop, determined not to set foot in there again.

Anthea loved the earrings.

She loved the story behind them even better.

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 **Author's Note:** **There we have it! What did you think? I'll admit, my Sherlock was a little rusty, but I'm pretty happy with the outcome! Let me know what you thought of this and feel free to give me prompts on Tumblr or go have a look at my other Mythea and/or Kidlock fics on my profile. Thank you very much for reading!**


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